February 3, 2018
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It feels like the world is ending. I am in the middle of the ocean, learning to breathe in water without a second thought. I see the continents sinking down to kiss my head and hug me, like my father used to do. Except, he's gone, and all I have is water.

As I speak, the continents are still sinking. Still reaching towards each other to hold hands. It's another Pangaea but this time, there's a witness.

But you see, the world doesn't end with hellfire. It doesn't end with screams of terror. There is no noise. When the world ends, it will end with a whisper. That whisper will say, "I'm sorry".

As if two words can fix the damage left behind when something disappears. I am not collateral damage and I will not apologise. I am not sorry. If I say I am, I do not mean it. It is just something to fill the silence. Like how you put flowers in a vase because it looks empty. And well, I feel empty. So maybe I'll apologise for it, and hope that "sorry" fills the void. It will not.

At the end of the day, sorry is still just another word, and words cannot undo. They do not revoke actions. They do not change the past. The damage has been done.
I think about this often. Mostly in the moments before I drown. Beneath the water. Beneath the sadness. And I have made progress. Because when I cough up the water, the apology stays in my lungs.

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